


Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by aphVirginia



Series: Serial Dadvid [1]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Dadvid AU, Hitman AU, dadvid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 15:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11672142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphVirginia/pseuds/aphVirginia
Summary: It would be interesting to watch Daniel, David had thought. Curious, how the cultist subdues even the strongest of children.Of course, Daniel had to ruin it by laying a finger on his son. That, of course, was unforgivable.





	Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

“I love you, Daniel.”

David’s vision went red. First the lying: No, Daniel, it’s blatantly obvious who and what he is. He just hadn’t expected a damn near carbon copy of himself as his target. Then, this mistreatment of his son? Unforgivable. Absolutely unforgivable.

 

* * *

 

Gwen had left earlier that morning to collect their next target; it was rare for Campbell to ask them to take care of a target during the summer camp, let alone two of them. She’d bring their guest in for a few days, learn about them before opting for the best course of death for her. He, however, had very strict orders from Campbell: Watch and Wait; unless, of course, the children’s lives were in danger.

So he did. He watched with his too-happy falsified personality to see how this played out. The joyful words and tone felt like acid on his tongue; he knew this man had killed before, had killed children who had done no wrong; but he played the innocent and clueless camp counselor he needed to be for this to work.

Max determined Daniel’s real nature first amongst the campers—his son was getting rather good at judging character, bless his heart—and had almost blown his naive cover. He’d wanted to pick up the child and kill the cultist, to never have to see this particular expression on Max’s face ever again.

He’d had to lie, to pretend that he had seen none of the psychological damage Daniel was causing his campers. His fledglings, his underlings. His son. Max was… very obviously scared, poor child. Still, orders were orders.

 

* * *

 

Max was no longer the cranky, manipulative, cunning son he loved. Brainwashed, mind-fucked, whatever it was Daniel had done—unforgivable. Couldn’t the man see his adopted son had suffered enough? Campbell would understand his actions, he knew; he would kill the man. . He tried to pull the man away from the children via job termination, no luck. So, he played his guitar, dueling the cultist for verbal wit. The pistol in his back pocket wouldn’t be satisfactory after this; he needed Daniel alone for his special brand of entertainment.

David watched and listened, playing his guitar as he waited for his opponent to slip up. He observed in obtuse silence as Daniel consumed the poisoned Kool Aid, watched with false emotion as the man pulled a knife on Dolph.

There: A break in the cultist’s façade; fear, shock, surprise. Idiot had consumed poisoned Kool Aid and just now realized it. Pity, really; he’d have loved to battle the cultist properly.

“Can we finish this in a minute?” Daniel’s voice was still so calm, knife ever so skillfully tucked away into wherever it had come from. The man looked far paler than before, a bit sickly green—the break he’d needed.

“Yes, of course~” David’s sing-song voice oozed confidence. Daniel bolted off to the woods, a hand covering the mouth; the cultist’s violin lay abandoned in the grass.

“Hey kiddos, can you go wait in the dining hall? I’m going to make sure Daniel is okay, and then we can all have some punch!” His words were met with a cheer, the children all running off towards the dining hall to wait for their ascension party. Max lagged behind the others, he noted; he would have to move quickly to take care of his camp’s intruder before the child snapped out of the hypnosis. He didn’t need his son knowing what he _actually_ did for a living.

He followed the white-clad man into the woods, following the easily-tracked trail of crushed underbrush until he heard the distinctive sounds of puking. He paused, taking note of where they were; far enough into the woods for the children to see absolutely nothing, yet close enough that the kill would have to be fast and silent; a gunshot would draw too much attention. A simple neck snapping would be too easy…

Oh.

A wry sneer, one that looked foreign on his falsely kind features, splattered itself on his face as he crept towards the other, silent as a mouse.

Looks like Daniel’s knife would see some blood after all.

 

* * *

 

Daniel’s insides were hosting their own revolution, refusing to cooperate with the totalitarian dictatorship of the rest of his body. His throat was on fire, his stomach quaked and shuddered, his heart stuttered (more from fear than the poison), and his heart ran rampant with dread. He leaned against the tree he’d puked on, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of bark on his arm as he did his best to catch his breath from the induced upchuck. How could he have failed so easily? David was so easy to convince; what had caused the man to try and send him away?

Zeemuug would be highly disappointed in him, he knew. He’d needed the children’s souls to appease his god; once he’d done that, he wouldn’t have to kill any more tributes to reach ascension. He knew from his visions that he only needed 60 sacrifices of pure heart and mind; children took less time to purify and were easier to kill. Besides, he’d really only needed a few more deaths to have obtained purity; the excess deaths he’d have gotten from the children of Camp Campbell would have merely pleased his god even more.

Still… drinking the poison was a bit of a letdown. He’d almost beaten the disgustingly upbeat co-counselor of his in a music battle… Perhaps he could have convinced the child-like adult to enjoy the purification sauna and have a drink with the children; an adult soul for himself, he supposed, since his god would surely allow him such a prize.

The wind whistled through the trees, an unnatural chill for the hot summer air causing him to shiver. The breeze cause purple-tinged spittle to land on his pristine white shirt, a sigh escaping his lips. He’d rather liked this top, too…

A shockingly strong hand  shoved and pinned him against the tree, breaking his nose against the bark and smearing an ungodly combination of leftover vomit and tree bark dust on his shirt.

“Wha—“

“Scream, and I kill you before you make a sound. Got that?” The voice, he knew that voice; it’s icy calm tone sounded so foreign, he couldn’t believe it.

“David?”

\--------------

Sneaking up on Daniel was easy. Taking the knife out of its sheath without Daniel noticing was also easy. Honestly, what kind of self-respecting cultist doesn’t have some sort of super-sense for misuse of their ceremonial items?

Daft idiot.

“You know it.” He enjoyed the fear radiating off the man. It filled his senses, exhilarating him. Oh, how he’d love to take his time with this kill; alas, it was not to be. He couldn’t afford to leave the man alive, not for his sake or for his camper’s sake. His wallet was desperate, but he wasn’t desperate enough to be sloppy. He’d make it look like a suicide: “Local cultist kills self after realizing his mistakes” would be a good headline.

He pressed the tip of the blade on Daniel’s back, pressing the point just enough to pierce the shirt and get a single drop of blood beading up on the point; Daniel tensed. His smile widened.

“Daniel, Daniel, Daniel… a pity, really. If you weren’t such an insanely religious sack of shit, we could have been friends.”

“P-please, I—“

“Shhhh, Daniel. You don’t get to speak. No religious incantations, no prayers, no nothing. Your god won’t save you; he doesn’t exist.” His voice was silky-smooth, soothing in a sickening sort of way. He felt tremors course through Daniel’s body, heard the joyous sound of a soft sob from his captive, sensed the complete and utter defeat wash through the man in waves—

He was satisfied.

“I’d ask for last words, but… I doubt you’d be very eloquent. Goodbye, Daniel.” With a flourish, he spun the cultist around and slammed the man’s back against the tree, knife poised to strike at the heart of the beast in front of him. For all of a moment, he admired the way the tears mixed with the blood of the man’s broken nose. Absolutely stunning. He’d have loved to hurt him more.

“Goodbye, Daniel.”

In went the knife, piercing the heart as if it were softened butter.

Daniel coughed, blood oozing from his lips as blood welled up in his lungs.

The light of light slowly, excruciatingly slowly, faded from the man’s eyes.

Absolutely beautiful.

He lowered the man to the ground, noticing with a sick joy that he hadn’t stabbed clean through the man. It would be entirely plausible to claim he’d seen Daniel hit his face against a tree while crying, then flop down next to it to stab through the heart. The police would buy it.

He pulled the knife from Daniel’s chest, removing his vest and pressing down on the gaping wound to “stop the blood”—an explanation for blood anywhere on his body as well as his fingerprints on the handle. The shirt, his panicked sobs that Max and the other campers would see when they found them in the woods.

“GWEN!!! MAX!!! CALL AN AMBULANCE!!!” He screamed loudly, falsifying the panic and fear that would have been if he was who he pretended to be. Another successfully satisfying kill.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t leave with the paramedics when they took Daniel’s carcass. When they arrived, they practically ordered him to go clean up, to not scare the campers, the children needed him to be strong; he accepted the shock blanket and kept it with him on his trudge back to his cabin to clean up. He’d gotten a second one from the paramedics when he returned; currently, it was wrapped around his shoulders while he watched his oh so loyal campers. He noticed that many of the campers had returned to normal, although Dolph and Space Kid would likely be free from Daniel’s deceased grasp soon.

“Hey, David?” Max asked, looking up at him. God, he loved his son.

“Yes?”

“Why aren’t you shaken up about this?” Thank sweet baby Jesus, he had an answer that would pass The Max test.

“I am. I just have to be strong for the rest of you, no matter what.” His voice waivered, sadness and fear and confusion and dozens of other falsified emotions swirling though his calm demeanor to show his son what was needed. “Someone has to and that someone is me.”

His phone buzzed, more than likely text from Gwen.

“… David, I think that in this situation you don’t have to be strong.” Genuine and blatant vocalized concern? In his Max? Apparently, it was more likely than he thought.

“I know… In all honesty, I’m waiting for Gwen.” Max nodded, accepting the words as truth. The child glanced around; none of the campers were looking, many pretending to be more than okay after hearing about Daniel’s death.

David shut his eyes, letting out a soft sigh. Perhaps he’d see if Gwen could get some cookies and icecream on her way there—

Small arms wrapped around his waist, hiding under his shock blanket. Soft fluffy hair tickled his nose, and an ever-so-small noise that could have only been a whimper escaped from his son.

He wrapped his arms around his child, his son, his everything, hiding Max under his blanket; he would never allow such pain to harm his baby ever again.

 

“It’ll be okay, Max. I’ll protect you.”

 

He’d die for his baby.


End file.
